


When You Wish Upon A Flame

by beware_phangirl (dantiloquent)



Series: One Shots [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 15:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2473286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dantiloquent/pseuds/beware_phangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Genre: The Night Circus AU<br/>Word Count: 6k<br/>Summary: ”What did you wish for?”<br/>"That we’d be friends forever." Dan blurts out, and cringes at the cliché. Phil smiles fondly.<br/>"And we will be, won’t we?" Dan stares at his fiddling fingers.<br/>"Even longer." And of course Phil had to make this thing even harder with a Winnie Pooh reference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Wish Upon A Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any settings in The Night Circus, they belong to Erin Morgenstern. I have taken her setting and created my own plot, interpreting it and shaping for my wishes. I also do not have Dan and Phil locked in a cupboard, and I am not claiming any of the events in this are real. Wow that was long okay enjoy <3 (I’m quite proud of this okay)

The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not.  
Phil’s alone when he catches a glance of the crisp black and white, bold against all the autumn greys and golds.  
He stops in his tracks, staring across at Hyde Park. It’s been so long since he saw it last.  
Le Cirque des Rêves reclines in the centre of the park, a steady stream of interested passers-by heading towards it. Phil smiles. He was like that once - curious. Young, but still curious. The circus stimulates the curiosity in everyone. They walk up to the iron fence, study the sign, and walk away again, a mix of confusion and excitement on their cold faces. Phil smiles knowingly, wistfully.  
Diverting from his path home, Phil weaves through the people, anticipation skipping in his veins, making his way to the circus as a breeze wafts through the trees, disturbing the tents.  
It still looks the same. Twenty years should have aged it, distorted it, but the beauty has not changed in the slightest. An unlimited number of colourless tents, encased in an opulent, iron-wrought fence; the black and white peaks like permanent marker on the dimming sky, the mellow scent of caramel tickling his nose. All of his senses are alive and he’s not even there yet.  
The bulbs are cool to his touch, his fingers are numb, but he doesn’t care as he traces the intricate letters.  
“Opens at Nightfall, closes at Dawn.”  
-  
"Dan!" Phil calls from his room, ambling into the lounge. Grabbing his coat as he goes, he leans on the door frame. Dan is on his laptop. Of course. He watches for a few seconds as his flatmate’s fingers go between the mouse and the keyboard, creating a song of tapping which captures his brain in the weirdest way, distracting him. Or maybe that’s just Dan.  
"Dan." No response. With a smirk, he realises Dan hadn’t noticed him at all.  
Silently, he leans forward, above Dan’s shoulder.  
"Dan!" Dan jumps, face contorting into shock before scowling up at Phil. Phil bursts into laughter as he retreats back to the doorway, covering his mouth. Dan glares even more.  
"Phil! You’re not allowed to do that!"  
"We’re going out." Phil announces once his giggles are diminished, choosing to ignore Dan’s whines.  
"Says who." Dan scoffs, eyes returning to the screen.  
"I do."  
"You’re not my mother."  
"Thank God for that." He deadpans, but there’s a fond smile as he looks at Dan.  
"Where are we going?"  
"Not telling."  
"And you say you’re not my mum."  
Phil thinks about slapping him, but decides against it: it’s too far to reach. They sink into another internet induced silence, Phil watching Dan’s eyes skim over the text and images.  
"Dan, come on. It’ll be fun, I promise." Dan shakes his head slightly.  
"Nah uh."  
"Please? I would go alone, but I’d rather go with you…" Phil continues tentatively. Dan’s face softens slightly, and he drags his eyes away from his laptop.  
"Why should I?" He’s trying to sound firm, unwilling, but Phil’s known him too long now. He knows he’s probably coming. Dan knows it, too, so he fights the subliminal smile as Phil looks gleeful.  
"Because I’ll unplug your laptop." Phil taunts cheekily, sneakily. "And you haven’t saved the Johnlock smut you’re writing."  
Dan’s about to retaliate and defend himself, but doesn’t. Phil looks on with triumph as he mumbles “fine” and shuts the lid, putting it to the side as he stands.  
"I don’t even write smut." He mumbles, loud enough for Phil to hear. He throws Dan a pointed look, but doesn’t say anything.  
Dan stands for a few seconds in front of Phil, raising his eyebrows as he waits. He plays dumb, merely to tease Phil. He’s not winning that easily.  
He throws his hands out, his way of saying “now what?”. Rolling his eyes, Phil grabs his hand and pulls him out into the hallway. “For heaven’s sake, come onnnnn.”  
Phil leads Dan to the door, throwing him his coat. His eyes rake over Dan’s attire, and Dan realises that Phil’s wearing all black, excluding the bright red scarf slung round his neck. How very unlike Phil.  
"You won’t need to change. You’re already wearing black." Phil notes, passing Dan a scarf identical to his own. Dan raises his eyebrows questioningly.  
"What’s this for?"  
"I can explain when we get there." Dan continues to stare.  
"It’s either that or the hat."  
"Fine." Dan loops it round his neck loosely, smoothing his hair back down afterwards.  
Phil ruffles it up again.  
Dan’s glare doesn’t last long when he sees Phil smirk cheerfully.  
"Lead on, then, oh King of secrets."  
"Why of course, Princess Daniel." Phil opens the door with a flourish, and Dan punches him lightly.  
"Watch it, you. I have a scarf and I’m not afraid to strangle you with it."  
Phil pouts, staring up at Dan through his fringe.  
"No you won’t."  
"Oh, yes I will. And I might eat you for dinner."  
"You love me really" Phil sings as they enter the pavement, taking off in a direction and hoping Dan will follow.  
"No I don’t." Dan laughs warily, and hopes his voice doesn’t say otherwise.  
As they walk through the darkening streets of London, Dan has three priorities: stay warm, don’t lose Phil, and dodge the pedestrians rushing in from every direction. After losing him in the crowd several times (and seeing the panic on his face), Phil pulls Dan close to him, so that they walk shoulder to shoulder as the anticipation builds. Well, Dan thinks as he convinces himself the blush is from the cold, that’s two things sorted.  
Dan doesn’t see it at first. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. But Phil sees it; his face lights up and he looks at Dan expectantly.  
"What?" Dan notices Phil’s expression but can’t see anything.  
"Can’t see it yet?" Dan shakes his head. "You’re in for a treat." Phil reassures him, before taking off into the park, tugging a puzzled Dan along by the arm.  
"Wait." Stopping a few metres into the trees, Phil turns and faces Dan. He walks behind him, and covers his eyes with his hand. Dan shivers.  
"Jesus Christ Phil! You’re freezing!" Phil giggles, but firmly keeps his fingers blocking Dan’s sight.  
"Phil" Dan whines, "I wanna see!"  
"You will, in a second!"  
"But I can’t see where I’m going." Dan argues, hand creeping up to pull Phil away.  
"Ah ah ah." Phil tuts, and puts his other hand on Dan’s shoulder. "There. Now I can guide you. But if you can’t see it, then I’m making this dramatic."  
"You and your effects."  
"Stop complaining, come on, we’re nearly there." And they set off again, Dan stumbling along as Phil laughs, but holds him steady.  
Dan is speechless when he first sees it. Phil stands back, silent, whilst he gawks at it. He knows what it’s like to see it for the first time, and he doesn’t want to ruin it.  
The circus glows. Bright lights hidden amongst the tents form a kind of halo around it all, the gates towering around them. A babble of chatter and laughter soaks out from inside, like water gushing from silver glass, alongside the wafts of incredible delicacies. There’s a queue of people heading into the gates, buying tickets and then disappearing between two velvet curtains.  
"It’s magical…" Dan whispers in awe, not taking his eyes away as Phil guides him to the line.  
"I know. You glad you came?" Tearing his eyes away, Dan squeezes Phil’s hand with a smile on his face. "Very." Reluctantly, he drops it.  
"Le Cirque des Rèves?" Dan reads the sign, the name made up of sparkling light bulbs.  
"The Circus of Dreams." Phil explains. It makes Dan’s smile widen.  
Inside the gates is a tall clock. The long line means they can watch it as it slowly changes; when they first arrive it is a light grey, but as they stare, more colours come through, until it is a jigsaw of greys and whites and blacks, reflecting the colour of the tents. Small figures appear; books with turning pages, tea pots pouring wooden tea, and dragon, a princess, and a juggler throwing up nine silver balls. Clouds drift across it. A dancing clock moving seamlessly as people walk past. Below is a small plaque, and Dan goes over to read the swirling writing.  
"In memoriam  
Friedrick Stefan Thiessen  
September 9, 1846-November 1, 1901  
And  
Chandresh Christophe Lefèvre  
August 3, 1847-February 15, 1932”  
He can feel Phil’s presence behind him. Their arms brush as Phil leans over him, pointing at the first name.  
"He built this clock. They say he was asked to build something "dream like", but he didn’t know what it was for. A few years later, after being told by a friend that they saw this" his hand points to the amazing work before them "and thought it was similar to his work, he found his clock, and this place." He then gestures at the circus. His face is lit by the various lamps, his face shining with the story. "He started writing about this place, and became the first Rêveur. They were like the fandom for the circus, following it wherever it went. Everyone loved the circus, but these people were in love with it, adored it."  
"I don’t blame them."  
"Same here. The Rêveurs would always wear black with something red, so that they would blend in and stand out at the same time. Soon, everyone in the circus knew who they were."  
"And what about the other guy?"  
"He had the idea for the circus in the first place."  
They fall into a comfortable silence, the same wonder struck look on their faces as they watch the clock tick forward.  
"You’ve been here before, haven’t you?" Dan asks quietly. Phil nods, the same wistful smile on his face.  
"Yes. A long, long time ago."  
The numbers on the face are turning into stars, glistening in the night.  
"Well, we should get going, then, shouldn’t we?" Dan prompts, and Phil nods slowly.  
"Right, yes. Sure." He finally looks away, and smiles at Dan. "Let’s go."  
They buy their tickets from a beaming woman, who eyes their scarves knowingly. From the ticket booth they have to go through thick velvet curtains.  
"Ready?"  
"Ready."  
Inside is a spinning tunnel, the walls lines of black and white, twisting round and round. The only illumination are small winking lights, and the boisterous crowd is unseen. The tunnel seems to go on forever, but eventually they reach another pair of heavy curtains. Phil pulls then aside eagerly, and the light on the other side is blinding.  
They emerge in a bustling courtyard. In the centre is a cauldron filled with snow white flames. Instead of a brim, the top of the cauldron peels outwards in several different spikes curled round at the ends, the metal pulled apart like warm fudge. The essence of delicious food is stronger as it floods out from the many paper bags, and they both take deep lungfuls of the scent. It is a feast for the senses.  
Everything is black and white. The tents, the Fire Breathers in one corner, accompanied by white flames; the living statues, the stall vendors; even the floor is another load of black and white stripes, twirling round the tents as they disappear round unknown corners. Dan can see why the Rêveurs chose to wear red. He can see a few around, beaming smiles on their faces. The black means their bodies are nearly invisible, but the red stands out like a new wound. They filter out, walk around as they explore new tents and new paths. It’s a captivating sight, seeing the crimson against the white and blacks of the circus.  
For Phil, his experience is tainted by memories. Flashing images of acrobats flying above his head, funny reflections in mirrors, laughter and exploration.  
"Shall we go see a tent? Or do you want food?" Phil asks after a moment. Dan gives him a pointed look.  
"Okay, stupid question."  
"Is the food good here?" Phil pounders for a moment, shaking his memory.  
"Extraordinary."  
"Then food is my priority."  
"Right. So, what do you want? Popcorn, chocolate mice…"  
"Surprise me." Dan insists, bearing a grin that Phil reciprocates.  
"Are you alright here? You sure?"  
"Yes Phil! I’m fine! Now go! Have a mini adventure!"  
"Okay. Be back in a sec." The words barely leave his mouth before he skips off, leaving Dan alone. It’s endearing seeing how excited Phil is, and he wants him to have fun, even if it means choosing food.  
He meanders over to one of the statues. Clad in white, a handsome man and woman stand inches apart, capturing the moment before - or after, Dan can’t really tell - a kiss. After a few minutes of staring, he concludes that they are moving ever so slightly. Edging forwards, but never touching.  
"The lovers…" Dan reads to himself before he feels a tap on his shoulder. He spins round to be greeted by a beaming Phil, his arm carrying a bundle of snacks.  
"Hey."  
"Hey. Ooo, what did you get?" Dan peers into the bag, hand reaching in to get one of the chocolate mice.  
"Oi. Mitts off! And don’t pull that face at me young man."  
"But why not? You asked if I wanted food!" Phil pulls out one of the sweets, and pops it into his mouth with a teasing smirk on his face. He gives a sigh of satisfaction.  
"Hey! Gimme gimme!" Dan pleads with grabby hands, and eventually Phil obliges.  
It’s not just chocolate. It’s smooth and lush and delicious, bursting with flavour. There’s the faintest tinge of fruit, and the sweetness drifts in his mouth even after he’s swallowed it.  
"That." He licks his lips, nodding approvingly. "Was delicious."  
"Told you." Phil agrees, before wrapping up the bag and concealing it in his pocket. "Should we go see something now?"  
"Good idea." Dan turns to face the body of the circus. "But there’s a slight problem. Where do we start?" Phil laughs slightly, following Dan’s gaze.  
"We wonder, I guess."  
"Okay. Let’s go!" Dan points forward and takes off with a skip, Phil shaking his head and laughing and following. They pick a checkerboard path and stick to it, still skipping, winding round tents with signs before Dan doubles over, gasping.  
"Too. Much. Exercise."  
"You’re such a lazy idiot, aren’t you."  
Phil teases, reading the sign of the tent they’ve stopped at. Dan straightens slightly, pointing his finger at Phil.  
"I would…retaliate, but I haven’t…got enough…energy." He gasps out, earning another chuckle from Phil.  
"Get up, you. Can we go here?"  
"What is it?"  
"Cat display…" Phil looks at Dan with wide eyes.  
"Really?"  
"Please!" Phil begs, and Dan has to give in. Phil and animals is one of the cutest things.  
"Fine." Dan groans, but secretly there’s a bubble of excitement as they enter the tent.  
Inside is the opposite of expectation. It’s spacious, light streams in from every angle, homing in on the space in the centre. There’s something similar to the smell of old books and sugar, and as they sit down the noise from outside drifts away. Maybe the size of the circus means they don’t need to have tonnes of seats, but there’s hardly anyone else.  
The show is spectacular. Two performers, who look related and are dressed in flowing black and white outfits, the girl framed by stunning red hair. The cats do unbelievable leaps and bounds, spiralling out of control before landing calmly. From what Dan sees of it, it’s great entertainment, but somehow he discovers himself watching Phil’s face light up like a child. Part of him knows he’d prefer to watch that, but he has to focus on the show. If Phil catches him, everything they have built up will be kicked down.  
Still buzzing, they rush into the next tent they stumble on, and are swathed in white:  
The whole tent is made from ice.  
A breeze sweeps over the icicle draped trees, around the excited fountain - the froth gushing out of it as white as the snow - shaking the petals of the ice flowers. Snow flakes fall gently across the whole landscape, adding a frosting to the solid ice. They are alone in the tent, the only sign of civilisation being the running footsteps across the snow laden ground, making it seem like some kind of beautiful wasteland.  
Dan pads over to a nearby rose bush, nestling his nose in the chilling petals. The scent is soothing; a cocktail of sugar and rose, the cold prickling his nose. He turns round to show it to Phil, and is met with a face full of snow. The snow blocks his eyes, but he hears Phil erupt in rapturous laughter. Shaking his head to dislodge the flakes, and ruffling his hair in the process, to his annoyance, Dan stumbles forward, following the faint “phut” as Phil prances away.  
"Hey!" He calls, glowering when he can finally see. Phil’s cheeks are several shades pinker than the usual bisque, a grin taking up most of his face. "What did I do to you?!" He exclaims, running his hand through the snow.  
"Nothing…but-but you should’ve seen your face!" Phil can barely speak in between laughs. Dan opens his mouth to object, and gasps as a flurry of snow glides down his back, much to the entertainment of Phil.  
"I am going to get you Phil Lester!" Dan -almost- roars, but he can’t help the grin and the elated leaps of his heart as Phil runs off squealing.

"In here?" Dan nods at the tent, labelled "The Hanged Man". It’s several minutes later, and Phil is still scraping out ice from his crumpled fringe. He nods slightly, moping as he eyes his hair.  
"You deserved it." Dan sings in response. "Now come on, enjoy yourself!"  
This tent is slightly more cramped, and they have to stand squashed up together like on the tube. But this is different to the underground. There’s no tang of sweat, the air is crisp but comfortable, and everyone can feel the same underlying feel of magic.  
Above their heads, a dozen or so acrobats enter, swinging on ropes, flying through the air as their costumes float behind them. They perform flips and cartwheels, hurtling forward before skilfully saving themselves. Dan keeps stealing glances across at Phil, but he doesn’t dare make a move, doesn’t dare touch him, in fear of destroying the trust they’ve built.  
The audience are clapping along, the atmosphere cheery and light. Phil can feel it warming his heart, and it’s odd how much emotion it can bring. A smell of popcorn joins the performers as they dance. They twist and turn into unbelievable positions, some carrying ribbons, others hanging upside down on trapezes. They are right above them.  
And there is no net.  
The roof above them is seemingly covered in hundreds of twinkling lanterns, hanging like planets and stars, casting a sharp glow on the aerialists.  
After a few bewitching minutes, he enters. A man, shrouded in a black tuxedo, hanging precariously from a single silver cord. It reflects the light as he starts to descend. Slowly, at first, but soon he is spinning in a blur, rocketing down on the cord that is getting longer and longer. Dan, in a moment of panic, clings to Phil’s hand. Phil squeezes it, and doesn’t let go. As they watch, their hands are intertwined, pressed between their legs. The moment when their eyes lock is captivating bliss.  
The man is still spinning. The crowd beneath him surge and part, creating a space of bare ground.  
It’s a case of not looking and not looking away.  
Suddenly, just before he smacks the floor, he stops. Swaying like a pendulum at eye height. Top hat still in place, not a crease in his suit. The crowd seems to sigh, regaining composure, and he takes a bow.  
"Well that was freaking awesome." Dan announces as soon as they have left the tent, and Phil grins because that is just so quintessentially Dan.  
"Indeed it was." Around them, the same conversation is being echoed in different voices and words and tongues, and it is awesome to be part of a web like that. Like the internet in real life. Phil is humoured by the simile.  
Dan continues to chatter excitedly all the way to the next tent, recalling how he felt and the atmosphere and what happened and, well, everything. Phil nods along, adding bits here and there, and although it happens often, he never zones out. He is actually active and interested in Dan’s rambles. He could go as far as to say that’s one of the best parts, when Dan just let’s go and emotions floods his face, because it’s actually very entertaining. Dan is someone who needs to get things out, to explain them. Phil is someone who likes things being explained to him. It makes a perfect match.  
Next, they enter a labyrinth. Instead of towering brick walls which loom like sentries, it’s a series of never ending doors. They start off with a corridor of six, and they choose one at random.  
The first room they enter is lined with chess boards. Even the floor is a jigsaw of marble black and white slabs. After a brief search for the key, and Phil nearly slipping on the polished floor, they discover a room full of suitcases. Suitcases stacked high up to the ceiling where they are shrouded in shadow, others strewn across the floor. The key is found by Phil, under the faded lid of one case, and twists it smoothly in the lock. The door swings open.  
There is an iron staircase which spins elegantly up and down. Phil stands in the doorway, looking back at Dan with questioning eyes.  
"You choose." Dan merely says, a glitter in his eyes. It takes just a second for Phil to decide before he’s clambering up and heaving open the door.  
Feathers fill the room. They flutter down continuously like snow fall, twirling and dancing like ballerinas. They can’t see the sides, no matter how much they strain their eyes.  
"This is aw-" Dan’s speech is punctuated by giggles. Phil has sneezed, and the feathers scattered around him, others settling in his hair. It creates a stunning contrast.  
"They’re all over you!" Dan giggles again, rushing forward and running his fingers through Phil’s hair as he pulls out feather after feather. Phil swats him away. But he’s smiling.  
"Hey! You’ve got them too!" And then it’s a battle of prising off the feathers, disturbing them in clouds around them, the room filling with childish laughs. And it’s odd how they’ve been reduced to immaturity. But it’s not reduced, more - lifted up. Because right now, youth is all they could want.  
Finding the next key is an accident. And it would be a funny accident if not for the fact that Dan is so concerned about the tame red on Phil’s hands. Falling over a key and onto a wooden door isn’t fun. But the wood is polished and Phil is splinter free today. Dan just can’t get over the leap of his heart as he watched Phil tumble. That’s all.  
Feathers flutter down amidst playing cards. Playing cards scattered on the ground, playing cards papered across the narrow walls, playing cards fashioned like origami into lamps that swing to and fro. Clubs and spades. Not colour.  
And Dan realises that Black and White, supposedly the blandest colours on earth, are what makes this circus so magical. Or are made magical by the circus. He can’t really comprehend it, but that doesn’t matter.  
Because the contrast makes everything swirl and sparkle and everything out side of the scheme is a burst of colour. Every orange a deep blood orange that pops like leaves in autumn, every green a new shoot in the spring and every red a lone rose on a pale corpse. And he can’t help but notice how bright Phil’s azure eyes are against the Black and White wallpaper, in the Black and White Circus. And he realises, as Phil leads him into a room being showered with snow, that the colour scheme makes you love the small things.  
It’s cold when they eventually exit the tent, the room with a roaring fire left behind them. Phil gravitates towards Dan for warmth (it’s not just that, but he’s not going to admit that, and Dan would push him away if he knew) and Dan smiles at him, keeping their bodies close as they shuffle through the crowd.  
It’s midnight. The circus is fully shrouded in stars - as many as possible in the middle of London - and a cool breeze sways in between the enthralled crowd. It carries the strong, tingling smell of caramel, and Dan sighs in pleasure.  
"You enjoying yourself?" Phil smirks, and Dan rolls his eyes.  
"But of course." They continue to walk down a new path. Phil is too conscious of how Dan has his mittened hand resting on his back. A few minutes pass, filled with the dying murmur of the crowd and the soft pad of their footsteps. Phil’s eyes flit between Dan’s illuminated face and the labels on the variety of tents.  
"Are you seriously enjoying it, though?" Phil dares to say, not quite sure why he wants to know (and why his heart is fluttering and he’s biting his lip).  
"Of course I am! I’m with you!"  
Phil is at loss of words on how to reply but that doesn’t matter, because a second later Dan is pointing at a tent with an exclamation of “Look! A Hall of Mirrors!” and he rushes off, leaving the inevitable awkward questions behind.  
The mirrors are fun. Unlike anything he’s ever seen before, in fact, Dan realises. In one, his scarf disappears entirely. In another, there’s a faint silhouette of a man in a grey suit. He laughs at the ridiculous contortions of their bodies, cringes at how his body is widened and squashed.  
"You look gorgeous." Dan notes as they stand in front of one mirror which twists their faces and makes their bodies twitch and shake as they move.  
"It’s because I’m worth it" Phil flicks his head, the reflection’s hair growing and twisting.  
Then they go on the Stargazer; a roller coaster that tilts slightly, unleashing the sky. The next minutes are spent with Phil coming up with ridiculous and fantastical constellations. Dan laughs when he’s meant to, the rest of the time smiling tenderly at the man sat next to him.  
"Phil? Are you hungry?"  
They’re walking outside again, finding their way back to the beginning. The horizon is scattered with towering buildings with blazing lights and tents buzzing with energy. Phil raises his eyebrows.  
"Are you wanting something, Daniel?"  
"Damn! And there I was thinking I was subtle." Dan says dryly.  
"Just like your mum." Phil dismisses. Dan scowls at him. But nothing. No reaction, nothing.  
"Okay. Phil, can we get food?"  
"Better…"  
"Please?"  
"Hey, you know what I really fancy! Some of those cinnamon swirl thingies!" Phil teases, earning a shove from Dan.  
"Ha. Ha. Ha."  
"You don’t have to have some if you don’t want-" another friendly hit from Dan.  
"Such a bully."  
"No I’m not."  
"All I wanted was food."  
"Did you? Oh I didn’t know, I’m sorry."  
"Fuck you."  
"Love you too."  
They find themselves back at the courtyard. The fire is burning still, spitting heat and sparks that sparkle like frost. The juggler on the clock is juggling twelve tiny silver balls, and the lovers still haven’t touched. But they’re closer, Dan’s sure of it.  
"Can I have that food now?" Dan can’t help pleading. Because the smell is stronger and the vendors are lonely, leaving all the goods on display. And Dan just really loves cinnamon.  
"I’m not stopping you."  
There’s a moment of silence.  
"Alright. Fine. I’ll get it myself. I see how it is."  
"Glad I don’t have to explain it."  
Dan scoffs and stalks off. He easily manages a smile as he buys a bag of the cinnamon smiles, the sugar bouncing in the bag, the paper warm on his fingers.  
Phil doesn’t look at him when he returns, the previous smirk now nonexistent.  
"Have you seen her yet?" He points to a contortionist. Dan almost grimaces: she’s pulling shapes which seem impossible and incredibly uncomfortable. It’s still incredible, though.  
"I have now." He twists towards the living statues. "Have you seen them?" Phil steps forwards softly to study The Lovers, noticing each minuscule movement. He notices how there seems to be a force, repelling them from each other.  
"Are they alive? Moving?"  
"Yup."  
"But never touching?"  
"Yup."  
The circus is notably quieter around them. Most have either gone home or are enjoying the attractions.  
"Well, that’s depressing, isn’t it?"  
Dan raises his eyebrows and smiles; he remembers how he thinks they’re getting there, slowly gaining closeness.  
"Perhaps."  
Phil may be confused, but he doesn’t comment.  
"Right then." He smooths down his coat. "Where now?"  
The Illusionist’s performance is a cloud of smoke and doves fluttering out of shadows. Crisp flames conjure up dancing images and stories. The Illusionist’s dark hair tumbles over a constantly transforming dress. The audience is trapped in the tent, under the glistening roof, but no one cares as they gape at the amazing show. Birds vanish and reappear, cages are reduced to dust, and the old woollen coat she had entered with withers into black silk. At the end, she spins and acknowledges the stricken audience; by the end of her rotation, she is no longer there. Only a faint shimmer, like far away stars, remains, representing the polished diamonds on her dress.  
The bag is crumpled up in Dan’s hand, the food untouched. His mouth is filled with the cinnamon as they make their way along the paths that lead to unknown creations, speckled with black and white stripes and glitter.  
Lots of things in life can be black and white, he decides as he watches Phil tell him about his childhood experience. Some things are simply one thing or another: you’re either happy or not, it’s dark or it’s not, you’re alive or you’re dead. But him and Phil, that’s not simple. They’re friends, but they’re not. Because they live together, they’re joined at the hip with most things, and it can’t just be wishful thinking which suggests there could be more than they say. Then again, they are just friends. Phil’s never shown anything more. So why is he so confused?  
"Fancy going to The Wishing Tree?" The tent Phil is pointing out is tall and slimmer than the rest, the entrance shrouded with dark and the timber smell of burning.  
Dan wonders if they’re at the edge of the Circus or not. It’s hard to tell, really. The paths lead anywhere, sometimes going back to the courtyard in a few steps even though he thought they were miles away. Dan wonders if they’re at the edge of love or not. It’s also hard to tell.  
"Sure."  
It’s different to the other tents they’ve been in. It’s empty and still; a static, calm magic rests in the air. The floor spirals in towards a tree, it’s branches low and coal black. Candle wax wrestles around the branches, falling from the hundreds of candles; some are new, the flames tall and melting the spidery writing, others barely a stump. Everything is silent, leaving room for the crackle of the dancing flames.  
Maybe Dan should try a bit harder to make things black or white, simpler.  
"What, so you write a wish on the candle?"  
"Yup." Phil picks up one of the candles and flips it in the air. It falls with a thump, and Dan laughs. "Then you light it using one of the already-lit ones."  
"So fairy tale."  
"Magic."  
"You’re gonna make me do it aren’t you?"  
"Of course. Go on." He chucks the pen at Dan, who barely grabs it. He thinks about black and white, then scrawls down a sentence in messy writing.  
"Done." He lights it from a stump, balancing it on a branch and watches as the first stream of wax dribbles down.  
"What did you wish for?" Dan raises his eyebrows. "I could easily read it." Phil explains. "It won’t ruin it, right?"  
"I guess."  
Dan’s staring at the flame, that is only flickering because of his rapid breathing.  
"So, what was it?"  
"That we’d be friends forever." Dan blurts out, and cringes at the cliché. Phil smiles fondly.  
"And we will be, won’t we?" Dan stares at his fiddling fingers.  
"Even longer." And of course Phil had to make this thing even harder with a Winnie Pooh reference.  
"No matter what happens?"  
"Of course! Dan, what is it? What have you done now?"  
"Nothing!" Dan doesn’t dare look up. Black and white, he repeats to himself.  
Black and White.  
"It’s just…" all possible words leave him, any good speeches lost to the flames. It’s just him, his beating heart, Phil, and the Circus. "I might be - just maybe -" Black and White. "Be a tiny bit in love with you…" he murmurs, uncertainty tainting every word. Phil doesn’t react, really - he just nods. He opens his mouth and Dan isn’t sure whether he should be relieved when he doesn’t talk.  
Dan watches in silence as Phil lights his flame with hands which might be shaking. Phil steps back, and they both stare as the white mixes with the black bark.  
"What about you?" Dan still hasn’t recovered, and he keeps his eyes fixed on a flame, battling sharp tears. "What did you wish for?"  
Phil’s voice is soft, his eyes a piercing cocktail when Dan gives in and looks at him.  
"You."  
He expects something to happen. In all the films he’s watched - most of them with Phil - the music would climax, fireworks could be suitable, a revelation would happen, ending in a dramatic get together scene. They just happen. But Dan’s just left, standing awkwardly, puzzled. No fireworks, no music, no script.  
Black and White.  
"You mean - I - you feel -"  
"Just shut up." Phil’s voice isn’t angry in the slightest, and Dan has to shut up because suddenly Phil’s lips are against his. There’s this sense of achievement, but linking it to completing a goal is too mild, Dan decides. It’s not like getting a good grade. Reaching the top of that tree you’ve been staring at since you were five. It’s something that feels right and natural and even better than he could have managed, and there might not be fireworks but there’s some sort of Black and White magic, and Dan can imagine fireworks, anyway.  
Phil can taste the cinnamon on Dan’s lips and Dan can taste the chocolate on Phil’s, can feel Phil’s arms on his waist and he knows he’s pulling Phil closer. The muffled tune of the circus fades completely, and they’re the only ones in the world. It may have lasted seconds but it may have lasted minutes; a lot can happen in a night, and the Circus bends time.  
"I got my wish." Phil grins when he pulls away, if Dan could call it that: he’s barely centimetres from him, and a grin is an understatement. Everything about him lights up.  
Dan laughs contently and the blue of Phil’s eyes are the only thing he can see as he kisses him again.  
Meanwhile in the courtyard the dawn is a rose red as it falls on the Lovers. The clock is reverted back to normal form, all essence of dream gone, and the Lovers are finally touching. The light from the dawn falls on the black and white of their outfits as they embrace, and it took a while, but a lot can happen in a night.


End file.
